When Not to Ask "Why?"

“Mom, don’t move. Stay very still.”

I don’t know how long I’d been sitting on my daughter’s porch swing, reading, in the somewhat sultry, but pleasant North Carolina early summer.

Something in her voice and manner told me I’d better obey.

“There’s a snake curled up on the ledge right under your seat.”

I sat still. I sat very still. I didn’t even shriek.

It was a very long, very black snake. Curled all the way around the base of the swing. Just where my feet were. It was probably harmless, but neither of us knew for sure, and neither of us wanted to find out.

“I’ll try to get him to leave. Very slowly, lift your legs onto the swing.”

She poked gingerly and repeatedly with a long branch until the snake lazily uncurled itself and slithered away through a crack in the floorboards of the porch. It was gone—for now. I was not comforted to think it could slither back out at any time.

I left the swing.

I was probably not serious prey for this particular snake. It may have been merely taking a midday nap. Or hoping for a mouse. (What a disappointment!) But, of course, no one knew that except the snake.

The impulse to ask “Why?” at such moments is endemic to most of us. We want to know why we should obey—and would really rather not obey without knowing. Or, as I might have done, we go ahead and shriek and jump up, causing the snake (in my case) to lash out with his forked tongue, perhaps causing deadly harm.

Asking “why” at critical moments can waste valuable time. Disobeying at such moments could bring dire consequences.

“Why?” is built into children. Their incessant questions can leave parents gasping and grasping for answers. Purely asking for information is one thing and should be taken in all seriousness. But asking why they should obey is another. The stock response of a parent— “Because I told you so!”—is not necessarily a bad answer or reason. Children need to learn that obedience to a parent because he or she is the parent, and nothing else, is reason enough. Of course, the parent needs to have earned the trust of the child— then, the reason for that trust should be implicit, whether given at the time or not. Parents know the critical importance of children obeying promptly when told not to run into the street or touch a hot stove.

An Old Testament figure, Abraham’s nephew Lot, was warned in clear and definite terms—by an angel, no less—to leave his town and home and flee before a coming and consummate catastrophe. Lot, his wife, and his two daughters reluctantly and unwillingly fled—but his wife did not heed the second part of the warning: “Don’t look back.” i

In the account that follows, you can imagine the word forming in her mind: Why?

She can’t be blamed for her curiosity (was something dire really going to happen?) or for one last look at her home (if it really was going to be the last). She had raised her two daughters there. The scenes of her life had played out there, at home. How could she resist looking back? (How could I?)

But it was God who had warned. That should have been reason enough to follow the instructions to the letter.

Promptly.

But the urge to look back overruled the warning.

Curiosity, and even self-interest, are out of place when God has spoken in clear and definitive terms. When He has warned with an unmistakable warning. The reason for my trust at those times should be implicit in the Person that I know Him to be: my loving Father.

“Remember Lot’s wife.” ii

Jesus made this allusion to her story as He was teaching His disciples about a certain future for all humankind. He was giving them an extended warning about the final days of history on the earth: what they were to do, and not do, when those days came. They knew the story of Lot’s wife. The memory of what happened because of her disobedience should have made them sit up and pay attention. The future He was announcing was a long way off and not in their lifetimes—but they could not have known that. He clearly meant for them to keep its seriousness uppermost in their minds.

He warned—as they tell us on the airplane in case of an emergency landing— “Don’t try to take your belongings with you.” And He as much as said, “If you’re at work (“in the field”), don’t try to get home.” iii Imagine the chaos on an airplane or on jammed highways caused by people ignoring those commands!

The warning, however, was not intended to invoke abject fear—but implicit trust. Trust and obedience would be their safety measures.

When God warns (and He often warns by telling me what’s good for me and what’s not), will I waste time by asking “Why? Why should I obey?” Will I look back, so to speak, with nostalgia for my comfortable way of life, refusing to give up my own ideas of how I should live it? Will I continue to rely on my own intuition, desires, and reasoning?

Or will I remember that He is my loving Father who has reasons I may not be able to fathom right now?

I am not immune to asking why? even of God. I have never been turned into a pillar of salt because of my questioning. God is patient with me, perfect parent that He is. But a warning is a warning. I may ask “why” once too often, may persist in disobeying too long and become immune, instead, to heeding and obeying. I may stop listening.

Jesus follows His warning with this statement: “Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it.” iv

It’s a paradox. But the fate of Lot’s wife in disregarding the warning demonstrates its veracity. The “escape clause” is actually in trust and obedience to what God has said. It is His mercy that prompts His warnings and instructions. They are for our good and our wellbeing.

Implicit trust and ready obedience would have preserved Lot’s wife.

Implicit trust and ready obedience will preserve me—and my wellbeing—daily, and whenever that future comes.

i Read the story in Genesis 19:12-26

ii See Luke 17:32

iii Luke 17:31

iv Luke 17:33